


Red Mountains

by DeathlySilent13



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Hurt, Hurt Edward Elric, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mustang is Pissed, very bad idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 11:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30105600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathlySilent13/pseuds/DeathlySilent13
Summary: Edward goes missing, and a rage-fueled Mustang goes on the hunt.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86
Collections: RoyEd Weekly Drabble Challenge





	Red Mountains

**Author's Note:**

> There's not actually any super graphic violence, at least to me, but I know some people have very different definitions of graphic violence than I do, so I went ahead and flagged it anyway, just to be safe. No major character deaths, so please don't kill me. I don't think there's even any really bad language with this one. Maybe. I'm desensitized to a lot of things I probably shouldn't be, though. If I missed anything I should tag for, please let me know! This one came out a lot quicker than I had anticipated, it was almost TOO easy to write, and I have questions I'm scared to ask myself as a result. Whoops.....
> 
> For RoyEd Weekly Drabble Challenge's Week 3 prompt DISAPPEAR.

“Sir.”

General Roy Mustang looks up from the report in front of him to an uncharacteristically concerned Major Riza Hawkeye. His team had stayed with him, most of them at least two ranks up from where they were before. He’d only recently made full General, likely as a last move before Grumman’s health starts to really decline. Somehow, coming out as bisexual the year before and severely curbing the womanizing hadn’t actually hurt his standing. When he’d been spotted on a date with none other than the Fullmetal Alchemist, there’d been two days of outrage and three months of wild intimate speculation. After that, no one had cared. Eight months later and he isn’t even asked about it anymore.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts and refocuses on the Major, folding his hands on top of the report and giving her his full attention. If she’s visibly concerned, something is definitely wrong. “What is it, Major?” he asks calmly.

She hesitates half a breath, setting all kinds of alarms off in the back of Mustang’s head. “We received a call from Major Miles, Sir,” she says softly, pausing as he stands. 

He hadn’t intended to, of course, but a call from Briggs can only be bad news. Fullmetal had gone up two and a half weeks ago chasing a rumor that one of the scientists who had worked alongside the gold-toothed doctor from the Promised Day was hiding out in an abandoned cabin up in the mountains. 

He takes a breath, centering himself before he does something rash and foolish. “What happened?” 

“They don’t know,” she says, bracing herself to deliver an unsavory report. She knows how besotted her commanding officer is with the younger alchemist. “Edward missed check in, and when they called out to the radio Brigadier General Armstrong had sent him up with, there was nothing. Four of the six sent out with him stumbled right up to Briggs’s door yesterday with no memory of anything after the day’s hike leaving the wall. Edward, First Lieutenant Henschel, and Warrant Officer Murray are still unaccounted for.” 

Mustang frowns. Edward and two seasoned Briggs soldiers, both of whom had been involved during the Promised Day, unaccounted for. He almost doesn’t believe it. “And there’s no sign at all?” he asks her sharply.

Well used to Mustang, and knowing how he handles fear (he doesn’t), Hawkeye doesn’t take offense to the tone, nodding solemnly. “They’ve disappeared, Sir. Major Miles has informed me that the Brigadier General is requesting our presence, she sent a formal request to Fuhrer Grumman directly early this morning. Edward has earned her respect, and she’s not opposed to asking you for help if it means retrieving him.” She watches the long blink, knowing it for what it is, and waits. 

It takes Mustang several agonizing seconds to wrap his head around the magnitude of what has just dropped in his lap. He glances down at his desk, he’s gotten the urgent stuff done, thankfully. “Major,” he practically barks, “Get everyone packed and moving. We’re on the first train north tomorrow morning.” 

“Sir!” comes the reply, complete with crisp salute, and Hawkeye pivots. From anyone else, it would have looked like fleeing, but Riza Hawkeye does not _flee_. She does, however, possess a level of punctuality and productivity that terrifies most people, and there is now a great deal of work to do. One of their own is missing, and that is unacceptable.

Mustang doesn’t return to his desk. As soon as the door closes behind the Major he begins pacing. His thoughts are racing over what they’d been after and what it would take to drop quite possibly the most ferocious combat alchemist the military has ever seen and a team of the most battle-hardened soldiers known to Amestris at the same time. He doesn’t like where his thoughts land. It wouldn’t be easy. Most people couldn’t drop even one of that particular group. Hell, an entire platoon couldn’t take Fullmetal down. Central’s forces tried. Bradley tried. The four hundred year old entity who had literally swallowed _God_ had tried. And when the dust settled, Fullmetal still stood. 

Unable to take the pondering anymore, he turns for the door, the office empty of everyone except Falman, and goes directly to the Fuhrer’s office. He’s waved through, and as soon as he crosses the threshold into Grumman’s personal office, the older man holds up a hand.

“I sent my adjutant to intercept your Major,” Fuhrer Grumman says without preamble. He’s clearly not surprised to see Mustang in his office. “I’ve received Olivier’s request, and it’s strange enough that I’m signing off on it. You’ve been secured a spot on the last military transport train today headed straight for North City, no stops. Should cut your travel time in half or more. Riza will have all of the signed paperwork, stamped and sealed. Go home, get packed, and bring Fullmetal back. We owe him far too much to abandon him now, even without your recent attachment to him. Your full team has been approved to accompany. Get moving, General.”

Grumman doesn’t make any attempt to keep Mustang stationary, and the salute and sudden departure of his General and friend tells the Fuhrer a great deal. Grumman has already put a semi-informal phone call in to Major Miles up at Briggs as well as a sealed letter to his granddaughter. He worries for what they’ll find when they catch up with Fullmetal and the missing Briggs soldiers. Mustang’s alchemic ability in war is no secret after Ishval, and Grumman has no doubt that merciless, blistering hell will rain down on anyone who has hurt the first person that the General has let past his defenses in over a decade. 

##

By the time Mustang gets back to the office, Falman has stationed himself outside the door. A briefcase at his feet is packed and buckled, and he salutes as soon as Mustang comes into sight. 

“Sir, Major Hawkeye is waiting with the car. We’ve already packed and loaded everything. Havoc made the rounds as soon as Hawkeye told us we were going, everyone else is already packed, and we’ll have the train loaded by the time you get there.” 

Falman waits the four gruelling seconds that it takes for his commanding officer to nod. “Very good, Lieutenant Falman. Let’s go,” Mustang barks, moving down the hall. 

It’s not until they’re in sight of the Major and the car that he wonders if Falman needs to make a trip home to pack. The Lieutenant doesn’t hesitate, climbing into the front seat next to Hawkeye and they take off without a word being spoken. Right now, he doesn’t care, falling back on the fairly blind faith he’s always had in his men. They’d have sorted it all out by now, and the lingering rational part of him knows they wouldn’t waste time. They’re all fond of the Elrics and have been for years. If Edward is in danger, they’ll be right with him fully prepared to mow down anyone and everyone that stands in the way. 

Hawkeye pulls up in front of Mustang’s townhouse, and he gets out of the car like the seat had bit him. Neither she nor Falman move, and the car stays running, which is fine by him. It’s mere minutes before he’s through the three locks on his door and pulling his duffel out of his closet. He hasn’t needed it since he was promoted to full Colonel, having lackeys to send out when the need arose. He moves almost on autopilot, three thermals, half a dozen button down shirts, his spare uniform with boots, and the standard issue heavy black overcoat are all laid out on the bed. He packs with precision, everything except the coat going into the bag. Four books and two empty journals are also added, and he takes the bag and his coat and goes back downstairs without a second glance. 

Once the lights are all checked, he exits, locks his door, and returns to the car. It has taken a grand total of seven minutes, and he feels each one like a white-hot blade jammed between his ribs. He doesn’t have time to even buckle, the car is moving as soon as his door slams shut, and for that he is thankful in the small, still functioning part of his brain. The rest of him is sinking into the dark, and he’s rapidly forgetting why he shouldn’t give himself to the beast that war found and fed within him. 

They arrive at the train station in record time, and, true to form, the rest of his team is waiting to board. Breda has a file under his arm, which is handed to Mustang as soon as he’s close enough, and they follow him into a private officer’s compartment, designed to be large enough for a small entourage. Mustang doesn’t speak, though he can practically taste the pointed look Hawkeye gives everyone as she settles next to him. He pays it no mind, burying himself in the report Grumman had put together for them. Hawkeye has undoubtedly read it, and most likely sent it ahead so that everyone would be briefed without relying on him. Once he’s gotten through it, they’ll be ready. 

##

It takes him the full train ride to take everything in, some of it not directly relevant, but clearly important. Or potentially important. Grumman’s not taking chances, that much is clear. Mustang would laugh if the situation wasn’t so dire. He knows more about the workings of the North now that he probably needs to. The file is put in Falman’s briefcase just as the train slows, and as they pull into the station Mustang finds himself face-to-face with none other than Brigadier General Olivier Mira Armstrong herself. She gives him a twelve second once-over and nods to him, pivoting sharply and heading to a trio of military transports equipped for the snow. People scatter before her, which no one is surprised at. Miles is with her, but even he gives Mustang a decent berth this time as they follow her and disperse into the vehicles. 

No one speaks during the drive up to Briggs. There’s nothing to say, and for perhaps the first time, Armstrong doesn’t have any scathing remarks for Mustang. Even she can see the rage that sits below the surface, a fire just waiting to be fanned. She’s brave, bullheaded, and unyielding, but she isn’t stupid. Antagonizing Mustang right now would end in bloodshed, that much she is absolutely certain of. If she’s being honest with herself, she called him here for this very reason. He will have less mercy than she herself will if Fullmetal is injured or worse. She wouldn’t have any possible whisper of respect for him, or for his relationship with Elric if he had come here with anything less than the rage that he bears. 

He doesn’t move until they stop in front of an easily surmountable rise half a mile from Briggs. He glances up, around, then pins Armstrong with a dark look. 

She doesn’t cower, but she feels Miles stiffen next to her, and might have to be impressed. “This is where the trail stopped when their radio went silent,” she says. “Leave Falman, he can settle the bags. Fuery is being given a radio with a direct line to Karley. Taking you all the way up to Briggs is pointless, you’ll just have to come right back down. I’m sending Miles with you, I’ll coordinate from Briggs to have anything you may need from North City brought in at a moment’s notice and keep them out of the way otherwise.” 

Miles hands Hawkeye a map while she speaks, and it takes only a glance to realize this is the path they had almost certainly intended to take. It’s a valuable starting point. She glances up at him, and lifts an eyebrow. This is possibly the most uncharacteristic display she’s ever seen from anyone stationed at the fort to the North. 

Armstrong catches the gesture, of course, but she’s not angered by it. “Fullmetal possesses a resiliency that has impressed Briggs from his first trip up here. Even as a child, when it mattered, when lives were on the line, he was unshakable. Stood his ground and stared me down for his convictions. He’s earned Brigg’s loyalty, and my respect. Bring him back, or don’t come back to Briggs.” With that, she waves them all out, and every last one of them obediently departs except Mustang. He sits for a handful of moments that feel like eternities stretched out before the onlookers, staring at Armstrong with the kind of piercing, no-bullshit gaze so often associated with Edward. He never speaks, simply nodding once before stepping out of the car, and everyone except Hawkeye breathes an audible sigh of relief. 

Hawkeye waits, and at Mustang’s nod she and Miles take point, leading the way through the snow. Havoc stays at Mustang’s back while Hawkeye’s ahead, and Breda stays with Fuery, protecting the smaller man and the radio both. They’ve likely got a long trek ahead of them, but none of them even feel the cold against the sickening thought that they might not find the last member of their team. 

##

They’d been hiking for three and a half hours, and halfway up the mountain Mustang had paused, glanced off to one side, and barked for Hawkeye. She took one look in the same direction through her rifle scope and completely diverted their course, and they’ve been walking in a seemingly random direction since. Just as Miles begins to ponder the safest way to ask Hawkeye how to convince the General to set up camp, Hawkeye raises a hand, executes two hand signals, and drops into a crouch. Everyone follows, waiting silently as she lifts the rifle and studies whatever caught her attention through the high-powered scope. Mustang’s fingers twitch, but he waits. 

The rifle is lowered, and she turns to him, devoid of all trace of emotion. “We may have found them. There’s a faint plume of smoke coming up from a deep depression that appears to have been dug out beneath a mountain ledge. There’s several trails of blood leading down beyond my line of sight.” 

All sound stops, as though no one breathes, and Mustang’s head bows. Ignition cloth scrapes as his hands curl into fists. “Miles, take Havoc and circle around. If they’re nestled under the mountain then we pin them there. No one escapes.” Miles nods, looking like he’d very nearly jumped up and saluted against the murderous snarl that Mustang’s voice became. They take off without another word, using the risen snowbanks to stay out of sight as they work around the camp. Hawkeye tracks their progress with her rifle, so they can move in as soon as they’re in position. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long. A hand motion from Hawkeye has them moving forward. Miles and Havoc mirror them, pausing when Hawkeye does and moving as she moves. They stay out of sight as long as possible, and catch sight of the group before the group catches sight of them. Mustang sees red. The crowd is huddled around a fire beneath the ledge, where the warmth is trapped and what appears to be hare or possibly fox has been roasted over the flame. They seem comfortable. The three figures tied to a pole sunk into the ground, however, do not. Two clad in black, but they can all see the hint of blue beneath. And with them, the glaring red cloak everyone is so very familiar with, white fur lining the neck and splattered with red. None move. 

Mustang doesn’t stop, doesn’t wait, doesn’t _breathe_. He slinks down between the snowbanks, moving closer, and mere moments has him pulling Edward backwards and into his embrace. The action had been meant to calm the beast that had woken when he’d heard Edward had disappeared, but the fresh trail of red extending from the now-visible puddle that had been trapped beneath the man does not soothe anything. He can see the blood soaked into the cloth now, darker than the fabric by a handful of shades, leaking out from what appears to be a bullet hole in Edward’s side.

Mustang barely notices Hawkeye behind him, whispering orders to Miles and Havoc to secure the other two, Breda dragging Fuery several feet away to call back to Briggs and report findings and injuries. Held to his chest, the blond groans in clear pain and curls slowly into the warmth Mustang gives off, coughing twice. The sight of the faint trickle of blood from the corner of his lips seals the fate of their enemies. Lips that have reduced Mustang to his basest desires, that have stopped his heart and his lungs with nothing but a come-hither quirk, that can set him to theorizing and plotting and dreaming with a mere handful of words. 

Mustang cradles Edward with one hand, the other lifting as eyes devoid of warmth and mercy count the snowflakes between him and each of his nine targets. A single snap, and they’re all ringed in fire, herding them back against the mountain, into the bowl. A second snap, and they’re engulfed, screaming as flesh sizzles, blisters, and gives way beneath his rage. He snaps twice more in succession, reducing them to charred bones and smoke without reprieve. His wrist bends, intending to rekindle the flames against the bones that haven’t yet crumbled to dust when a hand lands on his shoulder. 

“Edward needs medical attention,” Hawkeye says softly. Hearing the name spoken aloud gives Mustang the strength to look away from the remains of Edward’s captors. “Armstrong has a med-van waiting. Henschel and Murray have already been loaded. The scene is to be secured should anyone else return. Edward needs you to come back.” 

He blinks up at her, then looks down at the blond that had just about taken over his life. The real estate Edward owns in Mustang’s head alone is staggering. Staring at the trickle of blood coming from the corner of Edward’s mouth, the faint rasp of labored breathing, finally snaps him back into himself. His Major is right. Edward needs him, and serious medical attention. A final breath is taken to steel himself and he rises, Edward still largely unresponsive in his arms, and heads for the med-van idling nearby. Armstrong is standing beside it with what might pass for relief in her visible blue eye that they’ve found him at last.


End file.
